


Hospitality

by HitherDither



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Desperation, Gen, Omorashi, Peestuck, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HitherDither/pseuds/HitherDither
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Striders are strange people. John probably wished he knew that before getting stuck in a hot apartment with Bro, who isn't intent on letting him leave. At least he offers him some water...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospitality

**Author's Note:**

> Askbox sized paragraphs because this was a gift for someone :)

"No, I’ll just come back later-" Clearly that wasn’t the right answer, and John was pulled abruptly into the apartment by his wrist. The Texas heat was baking him outside, but it was even more stifling inside; who the fuck doesn’t use the a/c when it was readily available? “He’ll be back shortly." Dave’s brother spoke without a tone of interest, but John could feel him staring through those ridiculous glasses. “Take a seat, I’ll get you a snack."

He was not shy about telling the younger Strider off whenever he felt pushed around, but Bro was an intimidating figure. So he sat quietly on a beat up couch that looked like it was held up by cinderblocks- and oh, it was. The rest of the furniture seemed to be propped up in the same manner, failed garage-chiche. Sweat rolled down the small of John’s back; he was going to stick to the cushions after a few more minutes.

An airborne bottle of water nearly knocked the wind out of him as it slammed into his chest. “God damn…" He wheezed, feeling those hidden eyes bore into him. “Bro" Strider was leaning against the wall like some sort of oversized action figure that would topple over on it’s own feet. John ignored him in exchange for relishing the blessing of ice cold water in his hands. The bottle was emptied in a steady chug, and in a flash Bro was gone again.

The scenario repeated itself at least four times, John really couldn’t be assed to keep count. The skit was annoying now, and there had been no word from Dave. Hanging out with him was the whole reason he was even in this hell hole instead of his cool and comfortable hotel room. A half finished bottled water was clutched in his hand, and a small collection of empty ones was taking up couch space to his side.

It wasn’t like John hadn’t kept himself hydrated all day while he explored the city; besides cooling him down, the only thing the water did was make him have to pee pretty bad. The presence of the elder Strider was not making him any more comfortable, either. He couldn’t take anymore of this, and he pushed himself to his feet; sure enough, his shirt tugged at the couch cushions, wet with sweat. “Okay, well thanks," he shook the bottle in his hands, “but I have to get somewhere-"

Bro was pretty tall, but he didn’t make a sound when he moved. All that John registered was a breath of a breeze next to him, and in a flash his wrist was caged in the tight grip of Strider’s cool fingers. “Just a minute more won’t hurt." The guy’s voice was just as smooth as his gait and grip, and every bit as strong. “Let me show you this little thing called southern hospitality." John felt like he was a mouse caught in the gaze of an interested cat; there was no way this would end well.

"Thanks," John’s voice by contrast was weak and strained as he tried to pull himself from the death grip, “but seriously I-" Before he could finish he was being drug out of the room and into a very messy kitchen. Dave had been truthful about there being puppet ass everywhere in the house- they littered the counter. His wrist was finally released, and Bro quietly pointed a finger to a chair next to him. Without speaking, John winced and eased into the chair.

Sitting wasn’t a comfortable endeavor anymore, and he tried to keep his shifting as discreet as possible. Bro was moving with inhuman grace in front of the cabinets and seemed to be gathering dishware for some reason. A glass, a plate, a bowl- what the hell was up with the guy? John watched him with mild, distracted interest as he pulled leftovers from the fridge to pile into the dishes. He bit his lip when a milk jug flashed out and the sound of liquid filling a glass assaulted his ears.

No matter how much John probed his brain, he could not figure out why Bro had decided to set a plate of week-old Chinese noodles, a bowl of chicken rice (whose age he could not begin to comprehend), and a glass of milk in front of him. Like offered strange food from an exotic country, he stared at it with disinterest bordering on disgust. How long had that shit been in the fridge, really? Was that milk even fresh?

Strider sat down across from him and drummed his fingers against the cracked plastic of the table top. “How long have you been talking to Dave?" Interrogation over his last supper, that had to be it. John shivered, repressing the urge to shift in his seat as his need for a bathroom break grew. “A few years now." Bro seemed to contemplate that, and pulled the plate closer to himself. The look of disgust on John’s face could not be hidden when the guy actually ate some.

"So you two are pretty tight, then." It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. Bro busied himself quietly eating, and paused to take a long draw from the milk. Drops of clear condensation fell to the table and John rubbed his thighs together. His hands were tightly fisted together on the table- when had that happened? Suddenly he felt those eyes on him again, oh /god/ he hoped the guy hadn’t noticed his distress.

"What do you have waiting up for you?" The plate was half empty now, and the last drops had been drained from the glass. Breathing slowly through his nose to compose himself, John hoped his voice wouldn’t jump too much. “I was," he paused, swallowing hard as his body made it clear that he needed to urinate badly, “I was hoping to meet someone else in the area before heading home this week." Sweat was beading at his neck, and it had nothing to do with the heat.

Something about this particular Strider drained all the nerve out of him, it was stupid. John had to get a hold of this situation and split, the quicker the better. However, the now constant tug of his bladder made it clear that he had to take care of at least one matter before he could make it out of the apartment. “Listen, I hate to cut off this conversation but where’s your bathroom?" Nervousness made John grin like an idiot, great.

Bro wasn’t answering, what the fuck. The guy just kept poking at his food for a few long seconds before getting up and wandering to the fridge. John shifted his weight from foot to foot- it was nearly too much to keep from holding his crotch. Strider returned with the milk jug and /god/ no- “Like, really, it’s kind of an emergen-/cy/." His voice turned sharp at the end of his sentence, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of milk pouring into the glass.

That stare was on him again, he could see it for sure. The shitty anime shades were slipping down the guy’s face, revealing orange colored eyes. It was creepy as fuck. “So why’d you wait so long to ask? I’m not going to bite." John’s face went red, was he really that obvious? He gulped and steadied himself. “I was hoping to stop at a gas station or something- y’know, on my way around town." Talking wasn’t helping him out, it was just prolonging his suffering.

The glass was raised again and this time John couldn’t stand to look. A shiver worked up his spine and he pulled on his shirt- hopefully drawing attention away from his slightly crossed legs. “You know what, you’re busy here, I’m just gonna find it myself." Tearing himself away from Dave’s unnerving older brother, he walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room. There was only one hall studded with three doors, it would be over soon enough.

Behind the first door was definitely Dave’s room; John would have stopped to inspect it but he was on a time sensitive mission. The second- SCORE. He couldn’t think of a time that he was this happy to see a toilet, and wasted no time slamming the door and flipping up the lid. In that brief second John’s face drained of color. Meeting his eyes was a flood of fabric: puppets. They were packed in there good, and filled the entire bowl.

Allowing his panic to overcome disgust, he reached in and began pulling them out by the fistful- surprised that they were bone dry. Once he got about ten out John realized that there was no water in the stupid thing, it probably didn’t even work. How did Dave even /live/ here? Swears poured from his mouth and he clutched the front of his pants, shuffling the two steps to the shower.

The rings of the shower curtain were nearly ripped from the rod by his flailing hand, and his zipper was already being tugged down when his eyes registered another terrible sight. John had never seen a sword in real life, let alone fifty of them filling a bathtub. Any other time he would have stopped to admire them but right now it was just another pile of shit in what was turning out to be the worst moment of his life. Pissing on them was not an option- Dave would never let him live that down.

This was becoming a flat out emergency. John couldn’t even move for a moment, and just stood there with his hands pressed hard against his crotch- not /now/! Behind him, the door creaked, and a light breeze hit his calves. Oh god, no. “Are you having trouble with something?" John was in no mood for any more of these games. Stuffing his hands in his pockets and bracing himself, he whipped around to face Bro, riddled with confusion and exasperation.

John’s bladder cramped, and it was all he could do to remain standing and not grab himself like a little kid. “Is there /anything/ in this bathroom that works like it’s supposed to?!" His face was red with strain and embarrassment, and now he couldn’t stop his legs from squeezing and crossing. Bro just shrugged his shoulders and outstretched one of his long, muscular arms towards the sink and flipped the lever above the faucet. “Sink works."

That simple motion was John’s undoing. Water splashed from the spigot and quickly began to fill the porcelain basin, and the assault on his ears was something that he didn’t stand a chance against. He bit his lip and nearly shriveled up where he stood, distraught and helpless to stop a stream of urine from dribbling into his pants.

Just that tiny flash of relief was too much for his body to pass up, and no matter how hard he clenched his muscles it still didn’t stop. It was no longer just trickling out of him- now it was flowing fast and hard. The handle of the tap was lowered and the water ceased its cascade, but that only brought the sound of piss hitting the floor that more audible. Bro’s shades were falling off his face again, but other than that little slip, it was just as blank as it had been earlier.

The guy was fucked up in more ways than he’d believed from Dave’s descriptions, there was no doubt. This battle was already decided, and John let out his held breath in a rush and just let it all go. If he were in a different set of circumstances and actually pissing in a toilet, there could have been a great enjoyment to the intense relief; hell, there kind of was anyways. Urine streamed down his legs in hot rivulets, and what didn’t fall to the floor was being soaked up by his socks.

Bro opened his mouth to add more of his spotty commentary to the whole event, but stopped cold at the sound of the apartment door opening. A muffled “I’m back" could be heard from the living room, and John’s stomach dropped. Soaked and still steadily dripping, there would be no way to explain this and still keep a crumb of his dignity. But, like some bipolar guardian that wouldn’t leave him be, the elder Strider suddenly stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Standing in a puddle of his own fluids, all John could do was listen carefully to a quick exchange between the two. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but he did catch a “Fine" by Dave, and then the slam of the door leading into the main corridor of the building. In a flash, the bathroom door was open again, and a towel flew in his face. “He’ll be back in an hour." Before John could choke out a reply, the door was shut again.


End file.
